You can see the world ... and the garbage

Published: Friday, November 9, 2012 at 4:30 a.m.

Last Modified: Wednesday, November 7, 2012 at 7:10 p.m.

This lovely little national election we have just survived brought back memories for me about the worst job I had during World War II.

Having been the only child of a regular Marine sergeant who was in the corps from 1916 until 1922, I was really prepared for Navy boot camp when I hit it in 1942. It was like being in summer camp for me. The others in my group were in hell, and I had a lot of fun. After having my own personal drill instructor for 17 years, I was lost to the instructors in my camp. My shipmates couldn’t understand why I was so happy while they were in misery.

There is an old saying: “What goes around, comes around.” I guess I finally ran out of luck and got my payback for having so much fun at their expense at the end of 1944.

I had spent the last part of 1944 at Oceanside Navy Base in California, training to be part of a joint Army-Navy beach communication team. We were supposed to make landfall in the early part of a landing and set up communications to direct gunfire from the large ships offshore. I looked forward to this type of operation because it got me out of the Armed Guard, where we rode on the merchant ships in the Atlantic convoys. Being a target for German U-boats was not a fun assignment, so almost anything was better.

All the good times fell apart when I was transferred to a Navy base in Northern California called Camp Shoemaker. This was a Seabee base, which stands for construction battalion, a section of the Navy that I knew nothing about and wanted to know even less.

A Navy chief petty officer lined up a bunch of us who weren’t Seabee personnel and started giving out job assignments for us to cover and marching us off to different parts of the base. There were about 10 men in my group, and we stopped in front of a large building that didn’t smell good at all. When he opened the large double doors at the end of the building, we could see a large room that was all cement walls and floor with several large drains in the floor.

We were told to report to the building early the next morning and wear our blue jeans, called dungarees.

When we got to our building the next morning, we were met with large trucks filled with empty garbage cans. Our job started with dragging the cans into the room and placing them against the far wall with the open ends toward us. We put them on top of each other as high as we could reach.

We were given several fire hoses with water and steam lines hooked to them and told to start blasting away at the open cans. This did a great job at blasting the garbage from the cans, but most of it ended up on those of us doing this blasting. You can get used to anything, and by the end of the workday it was just part of the job.

My relationship with the people who shared the barracks with me was not as easy as the work. You have heard the expression, “Everyone knows your name.” Everyone knew my name and used it every day.

“It’s Hall.” “Garbage Hall in the barracks.” “Oh, God, he’s back.” These remarks and many others not suitable for a family newspaper were thrown at me at the end of each workday when I returned to wash myself and my only work clothes for duty the next day.

They all claimed that the shower bath didn’t remove the odor, and no one ever wanted to sit at the same table in the mess hall.

I was saved when I was shipped out to the Philippines. I was glad to go.

<p>This lovely little national election we have just survived brought back memories for me about the worst job I had during World War II.</p><p>Having been the only child of a regular Marine sergeant who was in the corps from 1916 until 1922, I was really prepared for Navy boot camp when I hit it in 1942. It was like being in summer camp for me. The others in my group were in hell, and I had a lot of fun. After having my own personal drill instructor for 17 years, I was lost to the instructors in my camp. My shipmates couldn't understand why I was so happy while they were in misery.</p><p>There is an old saying: “What goes around, comes around.” I guess I finally ran out of luck and got my payback for having so much fun at their expense at the end of 1944.</p><p>I had spent the last part of 1944 at Oceanside Navy Base in California, training to be part of a joint Army-Navy beach communication team. We were supposed to make landfall in the early part of a landing and set up communications to direct gunfire from the large ships offshore. I looked forward to this type of operation because it got me out of the Armed Guard, where we rode on the merchant ships in the Atlantic convoys. Being a target for German U-boats was not a fun assignment, so almost anything was better.</p><p>All the good times fell apart when I was transferred to a Navy base in Northern California called Camp Shoemaker. This was a Seabee base, which stands for construction battalion, a section of the Navy that I knew nothing about and wanted to know even less.</p><p>A Navy chief petty officer lined up a bunch of us who weren't Seabee personnel and started giving out job assignments for us to cover and marching us off to different parts of the base. There were about 10 men in my group, and we stopped in front of a large building that didn't smell good at all. When he opened the large double doors at the end of the building, we could see a large room that was all cement walls and floor with several large drains in the floor.</p><p>We were told to report to the building early the next morning and wear our blue jeans, called dungarees.</p><p>When we got to our building the next morning, we were met with large trucks filled with empty garbage cans. Our job started with dragging the cans into the room and placing them against the far wall with the open ends toward us. We put them on top of each other as high as we could reach.</p><p>We were given several fire hoses with water and steam lines hooked to them and told to start blasting away at the open cans. This did a great job at blasting the garbage from the cans, but most of it ended up on those of us doing this blasting. You can get used to anything, and by the end of the workday it was just part of the job.</p><p>My relationship with the people who shared the barracks with me was not as easy as the work. You have heard the expression, “Everyone knows your name.” Everyone knew my name and used it every day.</p><p>“It's Hall.” “Garbage Hall in the barracks.” “Oh, God, he's back.” These remarks and many others not suitable for a family newspaper were thrown at me at the end of each workday when I returned to wash myself and my only work clothes for duty the next day.</p><p>They all claimed that the shower bath didn't remove the odor, and no one ever wanted to sit at the same table in the mess hall.</p><p>I was saved when I was shipped out to the Philippines. I was glad to go.</p>